


Alternate Universe Collection

by Emmazing15



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet Collection, M/M, One Shot Collection, Phan Angst, Phan Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8557018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmazing15/pseuds/Emmazing15
Summary: A collection of Phan one-shots/ficlets set in various alternate universes written with various tropes.





	1. Within the Wires

_And now, side B._

It was a weird feeling, knowing that I knew things I wasn't supposed to know. Even after fifteen years I hadn't gotten used to the feeling. My head felt too full, which is exactly what they said would happen if the procedure didn't work like it was supposed to. We were supposed to report it if the procedure didn't work. How was I supposed to know? I was only ten.

The only time I _really_ noticed it was when I saw you. You always entered the coffee shop at the same time, every morning, every day. And when I noticed that pattern, it inspired me to do the same thing. It was refreshing; seeing you, feeling my head swell with memories of us, and just having the luxury of remembering. I saw you from time to time before the coffee shop days started happening, while we were both still in school. I got to watch your features slowly change and mature while you paid no mind to mine. Your hair grew in thicker, and straighter too. I miss your curls. You wore earrings, and then you didn't. You wore mostly black clothing, but your bag was purple. For some reason that flash of color stood out to me. You always used to wear colors when we were children.

I didn't like to stare, but I did anyway. You liked to sit by the window, no matter the weather, and just gaze through the glass. You sipped a latte, with extra foam if I remember correctly. My drink was usually just a coffee. For a while you didn't notice me.

And then you did. For about a week, you would look over from the window and see me. I would smile, as if you had just caught my eye on accident. You smiled back, but not wide enough for your dimples to show. Then we would just carry on as normal. One day, when we were waiting for our drink orders, you caught my eye again and said hi.

It was quick and noncommittal, as if the word hi was the least important word in the entire world. But it was enough. I smiled and said hi back.

It continued that way for a small amount of time. We would see each other in the coffee shop and smile and say hi. It was enough for you, but it wasn't enough for me. It hurt me, just a little bit. I don't regret trying to stage the entire thing, but after the initial thrill wore off I felt empty. Because there you were, across the room drinking a latte. So close yet so far, I believe is how it goes.

However, I was content to live with this. With lattes and smiles and 'hi's. At least I wasn't clueless any longer. And then, one day, you didn't show up. I immediately knew something was wrong. You loved your routines too much to interrupt them or change them. You were too proud to break a streak. That first day, though, all I did was tell myself I was being irrational and let it slide. But then, after a few days of your absence, I understood that something was _really_ wrong. And soon I got my answer.

I received a letter from The Institute's sociology lab. They wanted me, an artist, to come there and help them study their patients. I suppose that is what I have a degree in; the study of people and how they move. That's art. But I've never expressed interest in the Institute, and that was a very secretive place with a selective hiring program.

Now I understand, Dan. They didn't want me just for my work. They didn't want me because I was good at my job. No, it was because of you, because the procedure didn't work well enough on you either. In your waking hours you were fine. You were alone. But in your sleep, you were neither of those things. You dreamed and you remembered, according to the charts I stole, and you cried out for Phil and a brother you can hardly remember.

They couldn't find your brother. But they could find me.

I'm not supposed to remember you. I pretend I don't while at work. I sit here in this office and I record these tapes for your relaxation and stress relief. I do it so that you will learn to trust my voice. _Only_ my voice. You'll learn to follow what my voice asks of you.

I'm going to get you out of here, Dan. Out of this prison of a hospital, away from the security nurses and the surgeons and their… carpentry. You must not make it to carpentry. No one comes back.

At this point, you're asleep. That's not a problem. While you sleep, you're still unconsciously hearing my voice. You will trust my voice, Dan. And I'll take you home.

_End side B._


	2. Vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Universe: Vampires
> 
> Trope: Enemies to lovers

When Dan felt his consciousness returned, he didn’t want to open his eyes. He knew if he acknowledged the outside world it would be _real_. He would remember the pain and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He would feel the burning ache of white hot hunger and the lust to hunt.

“Hey, I know you’re awake,” a soft voice whispered near his ear, “You can open your eyes. You’re safe.”

So he did. And it was oddly underwhelming. The only thing that was different was the man kneeling beside his head. Dan was used to an entirely different expression on him; one of contempt and anger, and the strain of effort. Now, he looked worried. Concerned, even.

Dan had never seen a vampire look concerned before. But that was not what was in the front of his mind at the moment.

“ _You_ ,” he growled, and surprisingly it did sound like a growl. It rumbled in his chest, and caused the other jump just a bit. That gave Dan a little burst of pride. “Why have you brought me here, Lester? I think one of the last people in the world I want to see is you.”

Expression hardening, Phil Lester rose to feet so he was now looming over him. Dan sat up very quickly in response, which normally would have given him a head rush. But now, he felt nothing but energy inside him. He considered moving to stand as well, but he decided to wait. He was taller than Phil; standing could be used as a power move later on.

“Unbelievable. I pull you from a nest of Incubi and you _still_ hate me,” Phil retorted.

Dan narrowed his eyes. “And that’s a surprise? You’ve done nothing but express your own hatred for me since we met.”

“You tried to give me up to _monster hunters!_ ”

“And you tried to kill me!”

Phil’s eyes blazed, and when he blinked they were no longer blue. Now they were red, like fresh blood. “I saved you.”

“No,” Dan said, his tone low and threatening. He couldn’t see himself, but with the heat of his glare and the condition he was now in, he knew his own eyes were a matching shade. “You _changed_ me.”

With a sudden snarl, Phil pounced. Dan was surprisingly prepared and took it full force. Their limbs tangled together and Phil’s teeth snapped at various parts of Dan’s exposed skin. The brunette didn’t quite understand what the point of that was until he realized something: he was newly changed. He was stronger than Phil was.

In two strokes Dan had flipped them over so Phil was on his back, and he had his hands pinned over the other’s head. Phil’s eyes flashed, and he hissed at Dan, teeth bared. They were silent for a few moments while they sat there and caught their breath, and in those few moments all their sudden anger at each other seemed to calm a bit. However, the lingering animosity would not go away just because Dan had an advantage for the time being.

“Why,” he began, “do you hate me so much?”

“The vampire hunters–” Phil began but Dan squeezed his wrists so hard that he cut himself off with a cry of pain.

“Why do you really hate me? Going back to even before the hunters.” Dan had known all about Phil before he gave up his name and location to London monster hunters. From the second they met, Phil’s disdain rolled off him in waves. Dan thought it was just because he couldn’t be eaten, but he was going to get to the bottom of this right now.

Phil visibly swallowed. “Compulsion,” he replied. The special kind of magic or whatever vampires use to lure in their prey. “It doesn’t work on you.”

“What? Why?” Dan questioned sharply.

“I don’t know,” the older vampire snapped back, “It’s been like that since the beginning. When we met, I tried to get you to follow me home, remember? And you just thought I was mental. You were the first human I’d ever met who has been able to deny me.”

Dan narrowed his eyes. He did remember. “You’re mad that you can’t control me?”

Phil nodded. “Not that I could anymore, considering you’ve been changed. But while you were human, it was the most frustrating thing I’d ever felt. That’s why I kept you around, even when I discovered you c–”

Dan cut him off with a sharp snarl. He never wanted to hear the word _cancer_ again.

“Fine. Blood toxicity,” Phil corrected with an irritated expression, “I wanted to see what I could do. Obviously it didn’t work because you still tried to have me killed.”

“What would you have done if it worked, anyway?” Dan asked.

At this, Phil smirked. He squirmed under Dan’s weight. “Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

Although he was still irked over the entire situation, Dan moved off of him. He straightened up, fixing his shirt and brushing off. Even after being tossed around in a scuffle, Phil still looked immaculate. Dan thought he would be immune to the natural allure by now.

“Well?” Dan prompted.

Phil gave him a look, and then took a breath. “I would have done what any vampire would have. Lured you here, drained you dry, and that’s that,” he responded.

“You can’t lie to me anymore,” Dan said with a stony expression, “I know you’re not that simple. You wanted me to want to come with you. That’s why you were so frustrated when you couldn’t compel me.”

Phil closed his eyes again, looking away, and when he looked back they had returned to blue. “Yes, I also would have had some fun with you. You’re attractive, Dan. I’m attractive. And you would have liked it.”

“Sounds a bit dodgy,” Dan commented.

“Yeah, well, so is killing people and drinking their blood,” Phil retorted with a frown, “There are several lines that are blurred here. I take what I can get, and if I had my way, you would have been begging for it.”

“And then I’d be dead.”

“But here you are.”

Dan studied him a moment. He wondered what it would have felt like, Phil’s compulsion, to be completely at his mercy. He wouldn’t be in the situation he was in now, undead and bonded to Phil Lester for all eternity. Or until the hunters found him. Well, there was one thing… Phil did, technically, save Dan’s life. He had been dying, dying slowly and painfully from the inside out. Perhaps having to deal with a few hours of burning pain was worth not having to suffer from years of it.

Dan pushed himself to his knees and moved himself closer to Phil. The latter gave him a confused look, unsure, but before he could react any more Dan cupped his face and planted a kiss right on his mouth. Phil responded without hesitation, but he was still quick to pull away.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Saying thank you,” Dan replied, “You deserve it.”

Phil swallowed and gently shook his head. For the first time, his confidence slipped away. “You shouldn’t–”

“Don’t tell me what I shouldn’t do. If I didn’t want to, do you think I would have chosen to kiss you?” said Dan, raising his eyebrows. Phil shook his head, a small grin growing on his face. “Exactly. So shut up and kiss me.”


	3. The Purge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Universe: The Purge  
> Trope: The Florence Nightengale Effect

_10 HOURS until The Annual Purge._

Phil hated these flights. He hardly could stand to sit still on a two hour train ride. But every year he still braved the eight hours between London and New York. Propaganda against the American Purge night were spread all over his university, as it wasn’t a problem to look down on it in the UK, especially among the medical community.

He’s been going since his first year to help out the relief effort. Purge victims were often left in the streets to die, most of them just unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time or those who didn’t have any ways to protect themselves. It was sick and it was unfair, and Phil wanted to do everything he could to help ease the bleeding. Nursing and other medical students were more than willing to brave the travel to help people.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only thing that attracted young people to the Purge.

About halfway through the flight, Phil got up to use the bathroom (which was a bit of a production in and of itself). Naturally, there was a queue to wait, and he leaned against the wall. Predictably, he ended up missing most of the wall and stumbling into the guy beside him.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbled with red cheeks.

The other guy smiled a little and shook his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he said.

Phil studied him a moment. High cheekbones, freckles, surprisingly long eyelashes. He was quite handsome, but Phil didn’t recognize him from school. That was a little worrying. “I’m Phil.”

“Dan.” He looked over and gave Phil a smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. They were brown, and his pupils were dilated a little too much. Phil decided to hold his tongue on asking why Dan was on this flight.

“Nice to meet you. Do you go to York?”

Dan shook his head. “No, Manchester.”

“Oh,” Phil said, feeling the awkwardness encroach. Phil grew up around Manchester. It might have been a coincidence, but suddenly he remembered that Manchester University was notoriously known for having a large number of Purge supporters.

The restroom door opened and it was Dan’s turn. The brunette gave Phil a polite nod, and the two went their separate ways.

* * *

_2 HOURS until The Annual Purge._

It was like as soon as their feet hit American ground, the atmosphere changed. The gang of students Dan was traveling started to shove each other, and laugh deeply, basically starting their transformations into ‘unleashing the beast’. It was already terrifying and none of them were holding weapons yet.

Someone gave Dan a shove. It was Peter, from his lit and law class. “What do you think, Howell? Can you smell it?”

Dan smiled nervously and nodded. Thankfully, the older and much taller man simply clapped him on the shoulder walked further into the terminal. They were all walking pretty quickly, as they had a schedule to keep. It was just after 5 pm, and they needed to be ready at seven if they wanted to do this correctly.

A phenomena called Murder Tourism was popular among the law students at Manchester University. So popular, in fact, that those who didn’t participate were cut out of a lot of the student-run clubs and suddenly had trouble making friends. It was all peer pressure. But, it was hard to not give in when everyone was doing it. They told Dan that they were all scared their first year, but after Purging they felt so much better. It felt like a cleanse, they said. If Americans had the right, why shouldn’t they as well? Dan deserved to relieve himself of all his pent up energy and stress. Other students did it this way.

Why shouldn’t he?

The group -nearly twenty in all- took a couple cabs from JFK International into Manhattan. It was tourist central, according to the vets. New York natives chose to branch out for their own purging. For some reason, this made it more fun for the Brits to prey on other unfortunate tourists and anyone else unlucky enough to be stuck in midtown.

Peter had a weapon supplier, which he met behind a Bloomingdales as the golden hour approached. Machine guns, pistols, and revolvers were passed out among the purging law students. A girl and her boyfriend giggled over a clip of bullets. Dan ended up with a pistol, but no spare bullets. Apparently rookies always got the short end of the stick.

And then, as the roads clogged with cars vying to get out of the city, the Manchester Law students sat on the sidewalk with concealed weapons and waited.

* * *

_1 HOUR until The Annual Purge._

Anti-Purge groups had to be extremely careful in America. The majority proved to be all for it, so even medical help had to be hidden and completely underground. Phil was assigned to a bunker under Grand Central Station on 42nd Street. It was a huge space, and once the night begins it will start to fill up quickly. They wouldn’t turn away anyone trying to flee.

Phil got the end bed on one of the many lines. He set up his instruments on the small tray beside a heart monitor, and swallowed thickly. Even though he’s done this before, it still scared him just a bit. They were locked up and undetectable, but still… there were people out there who would just kill a room full of medical professionals for fun. Just because it was legal, or because they believed if they purged on this one night they would be model citizens, or for any other reason they can come up with. It was sick. But this was bigger than his bravery.

Someone tapped Phil’s shoulder. He didn’t jump, which he was proud of, and turned to give the woman a smile. It was one of the American organizers. “Hi, Emily.”

“Hey,” she said, “Do you have everything you need? Just making the rounds before the siren.”

Phil nodded, glancing around his little station. “I think so. If anything dire comes up, I’ll find a doctor,” he replied.

Emily gave him a tight smile. “Great plan. Now, listen.” She lowered her voice, and her expression gave Phil a little chill. “We’re a bit understaffed this year. So we might ask some of you to go out in the van to find the wounded around the building. Just as ambulance attendants under complete protection.”

Phil swallowed. “O-of course. I would never refuse,” he said.

“I knew you’d understand,” she replied and patted him on the shoulder, “Stay safe.”

He smiled back at her as she walked away. “You too.”

* * *

> _This is not a test._
> 
> _This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge sanctioned by the U.S. Government._
> 
> _Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted._
> 
> _Government officials of ranking ten have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed._
> 
> _Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for a continuous 12 hours._
> 
> _Police, fire, medical, and other emergency services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7 am when the Purge concludes._
> 
> _Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn._
> 
> _May God be with you all._

* * *

_Hour One_

It was quiet underground. It was usually slow for the first couple hours while the medical van searched for people who needed help. Along with the medical services the organizers provided, they also sent out a rescue team to try and save the defenseless from heartless Purgers. They came and went as the first hour stretched on, but that was the only major movement.

Phil sat on his examination bed, trying to look busy while his heart hammered in his chest. He had no reason to be afraid, their bunker was fortified, but still. The others said it was natural. Knowing that people were being slaughtered, lives were being shattered, and livelihoods were being stolen right outside your safe zone would make anyone nervous. Phil himself told this to new nurses every year.

A door slammed that made him jump. He lost his place in his biology textbook. Just as well. It wasn’t helping with the deafening peace anyway. 

* * *

_Hour Three_

There was so much screaming. So much blood. The warm New York night was pierced with gunshots, insane laughter, and even the occasional chainsaw. Bodies littered the streets of Manhattan as if they were meant to be there. Drains ran red, so red they looked black in the night.

This. Was. _Hell._

Out of their starting number of eighteen, Dan’s group had dwindled to thirteen. The first one to die had gotten careless with his gun and shot himself trying to do some fancy trick. They left him outside Lincoln Center to bleed out. The next two were left behind to a gang during a chase, another Peter shot in the head for being annoying… the list went on.

Dan didn’t like to think about it.

He can’t believe he let his classmates pressure him into this. He didn’t feel the need to _purge_ anything. In fact, he couldn’t imagine himself holding enough animosity about anything to want to just go and murder people. Not _actual murder_. People can talk sarcastically all they wanted, but being serious about it was a whole other situation. Dan was surprised he hadn’t died yet. He would be surprised if he made it through this night. So far, he had just gotten lucky.

“Hear that?” Peter asked as they walked down the very center of 41st Street, a little too loudly for Dan’s tastes.

One of the girls, who liked to skip around and laugh, answered him. “It’s quiet, dumbass!” Her white blouse was already streaked with the blood of a man she bludgeoned with the butt of her rifle, which she had stolen from him. She was in Dan’s comm class. She was so different now than sitting in a lecture.

“That’s what I mean,” Peter said with a withering glare. Dan was worried he would shoot her too. “We’re getting away from the action. Let’s head over towards Broadway!”

There were some shouts of agreement, and then the whole group turned around and started to run towards the last corner of the street. This landed Dan near the front, which he was not ready for, and he got shoved into running along with them.

They ran to where 41st intersected with Broadway, and all came to a screeching halt. There was a truck there, completely black, with the words ‘Forty Thieves’ painted across the side in child-like penmanship. The back opened, and about six men with huge guns and animal masks jumped out.

Dan was in the front. He might as well of had a target plastered on his chest.

* * *

_Hour Four_

The bunker was in chaos.

The armed team had brought back groups of refugees that were now clogging up the corners and shivering with fright. A couple injured were brought back by the medical van, but that was more than an hour ago.

Phil had already stitched someone up and sent them on their way, but that’s it. He sat, alone, on his examination bed and waited. When the van comes back things will pick up, or at least he hoped.

He shouldn’t have hoped.

Emily, a grun strapped over her shoulder, jogged over to him as a new wave of patients limped their way inside. Phil straightened. He sort of knew where this was going.

“We need you to go in the van,” she said.

Phil scrunched his nose. His heart exploded in his chest. “Do I have to?” he asked quietly.

“Some people might need emergency help,” she explained, “And you don’t currently have anyone on your table… please. You’ll be in the van the whole time, and it’s safe, no one will hurt you.”

Phil swallowed. Well, he came here to do a job and he wasn’t about to half-ass it. “Alright. Tell me where to go.”

Not much later, Phil was sitting on the floor in the back of the medical van, his knees to chest in an attempt to make himself smaller. It must have been some sort of coping mechanism… if they couldn’t see him, they couldn’t shoot him. Obviously.

The seemed to drive forever, but it couldn’t be more than hour. The driver and the passenger, both armed to the teeth, didn’t say anything to Phil the entire time. It was a bit of a relief; if Phil opened his mouth, he feared he would vomit with how scared he was.

And then, “Wait, stop, someone’s moving.”

The van stopped, and the two peered out the passenger’s window a moment. Phil craned his neck, waiting to see what would happen.

“He’s definitely alive,” said the driver as she unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her gun and hopped out of the van, “Come on, Jackson!”

The passenger grit his teeth and followed. They said nothing to Phil, and soon he was left alone in the dark van. He took a deep breath and rested his head back against the wall. He needed to get it together if other two were going to bring someone in for his care.

They were gone a little longer than expected. When Phil lifted his head, it was still dark, and he couldn’t hear anything. He nearly got up to peek out the window when the van’s back doors flew open. Phil jumped so much he smacked his head against a shelf. But it was just Jackson, the passenger. His hands were shiny with blood.

“We need your help,” he said.

Phil stared at him. “What?”

Jackson scoffed at him impatiently. “We need your help! This dude is alive, but he’s bleeding a lot and we’re not sure if we can move him without killing him,” he implored.

And then Phil jumped up, fear of the night forgotten as he grabbed an emergency first-aid kit. Nurse-mode activated. He climbed out of the van and followed Jackson as they jogged around the van. The scene there looked like it was taken right from a horror movie. Bodies in varying states of injury littered the corner, as did their weapons. It looked as though a group of purgers were taken by surprise and savaged. Phil was not unused to blood, or even cadavers, but the sheer amount made him feel a bit green.

Their female companion was crouching next to a guy on his back under a lamppost. He was pressing something to a bleeding wound in his abdomen, and he looked pale as a ghost. “Look, here’s our nurse,” she told him, “Stay awake, okay, he’s going to take care of you.”

Phil joined her, pulling out a flashlight. “Hey mate, stay with me, alright?” he said. This was basically How To Be a Nurse 101: when someone is about to pass out, keep them talking and focused on you. “My name is Phil, what’s yours?”

He tried to get the word out, but he was struggling. The gunshot seemed to go right through his diaphragm. “Peter,” he managed, in barely a whisper. However, it was easy to hear the familiar ring of an English accent.

“Well, don’t worry, Peter,” Phil continued and flashed the light in both of his eyes. There was hardly a reaction; he was on his way out. There was no use at this point, he didn’t have the equipment to save him. Phil swallowed. He had never lost a patient before. Then again, he’d never been outside the bunker before on Purge Night. “I need you to count to ten for me, alright? Easy.”

With difficulty, he started to count. The others looked confused. Slowly, Peter’s eyes closed and his head started to loll. Phil cushioned it with his hand, and before he reached eight Peter was dead.

“What the hell, Lester,” Jackson growled, “You just let this guy die!”

Phil sighed and looked away, squeezing his eyes closed. “There was no way to save him out here. All I could do was take his mind off the pain until it killed him,” he replied.

They were silent for a few moments. Then they all seemed to realize they were out in the open and outgunned at the same time. The driver, whom had a name Phil still didn’t know, rose to her feet first. “Let’s go. Whoever killed all these people is still out there.”

Phil and Jackson followed. They were halfway to the van before a small voice cried out, “Wait!”

They froze. Phil looked around for movement, and then finally spotted it near a letterbox. Another dark haired boy was pulling himself along the pavement on his belly, trying to get nearer. Phil took the initiative and knelt beside him. Immediately he noticed he was bleeding quite steadily from his left side.

“Stop moving, you’re opening the wound even more,” Phil told him and shed the jacket he wore over his scrubs, “What happened?”

He fell forward onto his chest and hissed in pain. Phil carefully reached around him, and under him, and tied the jacket around the other’s middle to staunch the blood flow. This one was too pale as well, but he seemed far more awake. “We got… ambushed,” he breathed, “There was so much killing, so much blood, I didn’t expect… they got everyone else so quickly. A bullet tore open my side, someone had a battering ram or something. Broke a bone in my thigh, can’t walk.”

“And they left you? Whoever did this?” Phil asked, the entire time checking vitals. His pupils dilated properly, no bumps on his head.

“I pretended to be dead. I was bleeding enough… that’s when my leg got smashed, I guess they thought I didn’t look beat up enough,” he continued.

Phil swallowed. “What’s your name?”

“Dan.”

He paused then. He remembered that name. And, this Dan had an English accent as well. “I’m Phil,” he said.

Dan cocked his head, recognition spreading over his face, which was the first expression he’s had other than _pain._ “Were you on a plane this morning?” he asked.

Phil nodded. “I went to York. Nursing.”

“Manchester. Law.”

The revving of engines echoed between the tall buildings, and started to become louder. Jackson hurried over. “Come on, we have to go,” he hissed.

Phil looked worriedly over Dan. He stared back, looking terrified. “Alright, can you flip over on your back?” Phil asked quickly.

Dan gulped and nodded. He sucked in a breath and pushed himself over, grimacing and clenching to work through the pain of putting pressure on a broken femur. The engines grew louder; they must be only a block away.

“Phil!” the driver cried.

Looking apologetic Phil leaned down by Dan. “I’m so sorry, this is going to hurt a lot,” he whispered. Then he jabbed his arms underneath Dan’s body and lifted, picking Dan up bridal style. He cried out in pain, and tears ran down his cheeks. Phil apologized profusely the entire time, but didn’t stop running until they were both safely in the back of the van. He set Dan down on the floor and then pulled the doors closed as the sound of engines grew to a fever pitch.

And then bullets connected with the closed doors, and bounced off the armored casing. “Drive!” Phil shouted. Not needing to be told twice, the van gunned back towards the bunker, tires squealing.

* * *

_Hour Five_

Dan almost couldn’t believe his luck. He was convinced he was going to die there. He even tried to make himself feel better by telling himself at least he could see the marquees of Broadway theaters in the lamplight. But now… maybe he would live.

He and Phil didn’t talk much while they were in the van. The pain of being carried nearly knocked him out, and while he laid there he blinked in and out. Phil kept him awake, worried he would pass out, but Dan was aware enough to keep his eyes open. At least now everything going on in his head was a little muted. He just wanted to go home.

The transportation from the van to the… well, he didn’t know what it was. It was inside though, and he could hear that it was full of people, and this time it didn’t hurt so much because he was on a stretcher. Or something else with wheels. He didn’t really know. One thing he did know, however, was that Phil never left his side. He was right there the whole time while they rolled into the dimly lit room.

Phil said something about a doctor, and the shapes and shadows around Dan shifted. He said something else, and Dan couldn’t really focus, so when Phil spoke again he was very close to his ear. “We have to set your broken leg, okay, and it’s going to hurt,” he said. He felt something touch his mouth. “You’ll want to bite down on this.”

Dan did his best to open his mouth and close his teeth over what felt like a roll of cloth. And then, in the next instance, a blindingly hot pain shot through his right leg. Dan screamed in agony, and lucky that cloth was in his mouth or he would have bitten off his tongue. He clenched his jaw so tightly it was sore, at least it was once he could think again.

Sometime after the screaming and during the setting, Phil was shouting. “Get some freaking morphine!” Drugs would be nice, Dan thought. Then he noticed Phil start to move away, and he reached out as quickly as he could to grab Phil’s wrist.

“Don’t,” he murmured, “Stay. With me.”

Phil looked down at him a moment, and then nodded. “Okay,” he replied. Dan released his wrist. Soon, there was a prick in his arm, which was hopefully a syringe of painkillers. With Phil watching worriedly over him, he succumbed to his heavy eyelids.

* * *

_Hour Seven_

While Dan was out, Phil stitched up the graze the bullet left in his side. Unfortunately he had to keep the shirt he had bled through, so while he rested on his stretcher he was still covered in dried blood. Hopefully he didn’t get an infection.

Phil tended to a number of patients while Dan was asleep. He of course focused enough to make sure he did his job, but his thoughts were always on Dan. It was odd; they met for fleeting moments on the airplane, and then he turns up hurt on the side of the road and Phil gets attached.

He’s seen a lot of patients, but he supposed he’s never been almost Purged with one before.

* * *

_Hour Eight_

Dan woke up in the corner of the bunker, still on his stretcher. His head felt heavy and groggy, but he couldn’t feel searing pain all over his body anymore. He tried to sit up and grimaced at dull feeling of the stitches pulling at his skin. The painkillers really did their job. He settled for leaning on his elbows instead.

Phil was on the other side of the room. He had a woman sitting on his exam table, and he was smiling at her as he dabbed an abrasion on her head with a cotton ball. She said something, and he laughed. Something about the coincidence of their paths crossing again made Dan oddly attached to him. He was alright with that. He would rather spend the rest of his night somewhere with a small chance of him dying.

When he was finished tending to the woman, Phil noticed Dan was awake. He headed over and sat on the floor beside him with a tight smile. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been shot,” Dan replied.

Phil’s smile grew genuine. “Glad you have a sense of humor.”

“I have more of that than I have blood in my system right now,” he deadpanned.

“I know,” Phil sighed, “But, thankfully, your body will make more! And you’ll heal.” Dan pressed his lips in a line and nodded. Phil did the same, and then asked, “Why were you out there, Dan?”

He supposed the important questions really couldn’t wait until morning. “Peer pressure. Most law students at Manchester travel here for the Purge… Murder Tourism, the media calls it. They think if Americans have the right to the Purge, so should they. I didn’t expect it to be like this,” he replied despondently.

“You didn’t think something called Murder Tourism would involve actual murder?” Phil questioned.

Dan shrugged. Or tried too. “I guess I didn’t really think it through. At home it was just a craze, you know? Here… it’s real.”

With a sigh, Phil nodded. “I know what you mean,” he said, “Every year it gets worse. Our numbers dwindle.”

Someone shouted for Phil across the room. Dan smiled a little. “Go on, go save more lives. Mine’s not in immediate danger anymore,” he told him.

Phil gave a nod and got back to his feet to get back to work. Dan laid back down and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, but at least he could be more relaxed here.

* * *

_Hour Nine_

This was around the time it became an endless stream of patients. Those in critical condition went to one of the three doctors they had on hand, everyone else was handed over to the nurses. Phil did his best with everyone who came his way, but there was only so much he was trained to do. Nurses weren’t doctors.

They never did ask him to go back in the medical van. This time, he would refuse. He would rather be here taking care of people on sight… besides, no one else would keep such a close watch on Dan.

* * *

_Hour Ten_

Dan didn’t make friends with anyone else. They were all equally shaken after what’s happened around them. Plus, those who could, often got up and walked away to find a perhaps happier corner of the room. Dan looked like a sad, beat up British kid who had nowhere to go.

He supposed that’s what he was.

At one point, it sounded like there was gunfire at the door to the safe house. Everything stopped, including Dan’s heart. Someone was coming for them, and Phil was nowhere to be seen. The fighters, or the ones in the room who weren’t the medical team, stood very near the door with weapons drawn. When it didn’t budge, the gunfire and banging stopped. All was quiet again. Eventually, everything picked back up to normal.

* * *

_Hour Eleven_

“That happens almost every year,” Phil told Dan when he asked about almost being broken into.

“Really,” Dan said, his eyes wide, “And you haven’t died yet. Amazing.”

Phil smiled and shrugged. “Whoever organizes this whole thing must know what they’re doing. It stays mostly secret, and no one can get in unless we bring them in. And we help people.”

“You do,” Dan agreed, “Without you, I would have died on that corner. Maybe not from my injuries, but someone would have come along and finished the job.”

“Don’t think like that,” Phil argued, frowning.

“Well, it’s true. I’m glad you saved me and not Peter,” Dan continued.

The other cocked his head. “Why?”

“Because he was a douche and a half. He shot one of our classmates because he was ‘annoying’. He would basically try to shoot anything that came into his sights. And he was just obnoxious.”

Phil pursed his lips, thinking. Dan supposed Phil didn’t see the world the same he did; Phil was a nurse, he wanted to help everyone. Dan, being a future lawyer, was often exposed to the bad qualities of a person first and foremost.

“Still. I’m happy it was you,” Phil added. Dan smiled as brightly as he could, given the circumstances. “As soon as it hits 7 am, we’ll call ambulances. We’ll get you to a proper hospital and make sure you’re not infected.”

“Brilliant plan.”

* * *

_Hour Twelve- End of The Annual Purge._

The siren was like Christmas came early.

The doors to the bunker opened and Phil sucked in the first fresh air he’s gotten in hours. That’s when Emily sprinted in, a phone pressed to her ear. “Attention everyone! We have ambulances coming to Grand Central right not to take you all to the nearest hospital, you’ll all be okay.”

There was clapping from all the injured on the floor. Phil hurried over to Dan and knelt in front of him. “You’re going to have to get up again,” he said gently.

Dan set his jaw, bracing himself. “Alright. Give me your arm.”

Phil wrapped his arm around Dan, just above the gunshot wound, and pulled him up. Dan hissed, but seemed to be able to keep the weight off his hurt let. With help, Phil helped him hobble towards the open doors. They would get there in due time; everyone else was faster than them.

“So, when all this is over… like _really over_ ,” Dan began, “Will you call me, back home? I know this was traumatic, but I’d like not to lose touch.”

Phil smiled at him and nodded. “Without a doubt,” he replied, “How will it be going back to Manchester?”

Dan sighed as if the question itself pained him. He was the only one going back. “I don’t know. I’ll let you know when I get there.”

Phil held onto him until an ambulance arrived to take him. Carefully Phil filled in the EMT on Dan’s injuries and all they’ve done for him, then helped him onto a gurney. The EMT put on his stethoscope. “You’re very lucky,” he informed Dan.

He looked up at Phil and gave him a bright smile. “I know.” Phil blushed a deep crimson.

“To think,” the EMT chuckled, “Only 365 days until the next Purge.”

Dan’s smile vanished. This time he looked at Phil with a panicked expression. Now looking a strange mix of resigned and frightened, he mouthed two words to Dan. Words from the Purge announcement, there meant to be happy and reverent, now with a sour taste.

_Blessed be._


End file.
